


masters of none

by towards



Category: Marvel 616, Young Avengers (Comics)
Genre: AUs are fun, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 19:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15589182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towards/pseuds/towards
Summary: The bag is dropped and he’s zipping forward, grabbing the arm of the dark haired girl and whipping her away from Lisa. Lisa, who is positively vibrating with excitement, ready to throw down with the up and coming kissasses of America, and he’s considering a nap. The Young Avengers (trademarked, apparently) look pissed and he’s not exactly feeling the love here.“Tommy,” Lisa says too brightly, in the same voice she gets before showing off one of her avant garde pieces that has less to do with sexy fun and more to do with gore, one of her hands on his shoulder as he moves to bail. “That one has your face!”





	masters of none

**Author's Note:**

> i think this is mostly going to end up being drabbles from an au idea i had, but it could end up being more structured down the road.
> 
> i've also made a personal tumblr so feel free to send in prompts and stuff: https://restartloop.tumblr.com/
> 
> small note: i hate egghead and big zero so rest assured there's no sympathetic light being shone on them. tommy's in with a bad crowd but that doesn't make him bad people and he sure as fuck isn't a fan of them or their racism and anti-semitism either.

When other kids were writing to Santa, Thomas Shepherd had put pen to paper and asked for salvation.

Not the Christian kind. Though he guessed that would have been okay too. Being pulled from one shitty living situation and dumped into another with bonus fluffy clouds could’ve been a nice trade. The Shepherds weren’t anything. Didn’t go to church, temple, mosques - they called it all a scam and washed their hands of it, much the same way they did anything relating to child rearing. Tommy raised himself on a steady diet of cheerios and found parental figures in the faces on the news.

The Avengers.

The X-Men.

And so at eight, on a chilly December morning, he asked for the only thing he really wanted. A place among them. A chance to prove himself, a chance to be good. 

Maybe it was because his grades were a tic tac toe pattern of Cs and Ds. Maybe it was because he already had the starting of a criminal record. Shoplifting food and games with quick fingers that cameras hadn’t caught, the security alarm giving him away

( he knew better after that )

but no reply ever came. 

That was how he learned you make your own salvation. Heroes don’t exist. Not really. Not where it matters.

His parents didn’t use the M word. Not even after the divorce, when custody was a point of contention - neither of them wanted him and argued why the other would be better suited to taking care of a ‘special needs’ child. It wasn’t even said when later, much later, Frank fell off the wagon so hard he broke his hip when the car hit the tree - stunned and confused as to why his son, who had been in the passenger seat, hadn’t gotten impaled by the branch that broke through the window. He wasn’t allowed to use the word, not even as he went through the regiment of keeping his naturally silver hair dyed a tidy black.

He wasn’t allowed to run track when he nearly doubled the school’s speed record.

He wasn’t allowed to do anything. Other than keep his eyes down and his smart mouth shut - but that, like so many other things, proved to be an impossibility. His powers were growing. His anger was growing.

And it all culminated in the explosion of his school. To juvie. To experiments to -- 

He didn't like to think about what came after.

Now he was here. Standing shoulder to shoulder with burgeoning heroes. Their leader is rattling off a speech the rest of them aren’t into - Tommy’s toes are tapping against the ground, itching to make some noise. There are guns trained on them and -

“Seriously, give up. Do you guys know who you’re facing here? Only New York’s leading super heroes! You are in a fight with the latest, the greatest YOUNG AVENGERS!”

Gag.

The baddies are dealt with. Celebrations are had. He doesn't feel great about it, but honestly, he can't remember the last time he felt great about anything.

They've got the start of a body count. He moves fast enough to stop most casualties but nobody wants to talk about what the hell kind of collateral they cause when he's not around. It's got less to do with justice and more to do with not wanting to end up in a place worse than juvie, but he'd be lying if he said it wasn't also because he was afraid to see how bad things could get. So they don't kill. They beat. They maim. They cripple for life. They teach lessons.

Tommy knows for a fact that there’s another team out there with the name, and they aren’t going to take kindly to some trashy kids using their name. Issuing the kind of justice that the snooty kids from the upper crust turn their nose up at. They’ll come calling, and while he thinks it’s a stupid fucking plan that might have worked if their team wasn’t primarily staffed by sociopaths, Melter isn’t changing his mind. It isn’t as if they have anything else going for them. A bunch of unhinged teen lunatics with the ability to destroy the world shouldn't be left with nothing to lose and everything to prove.

And so when he finally comes back from his trip to get groceries (lines, he fucking hates lines) and finds the two teams locked in combat, he isn’t terribly surprised.

The bag is dropped and he’s zipping forward, grabbing the arm of the dark haired girl and whipping her away from Lisa. Lisa, who is positively vibrating with excitement, ready to throw down with the up and coming kissasses of America, and he’s considering a nap. The Young Avengers (trademarked, apparently) look pissed and he’s not exactly feeling the love here.

“Tommy,” Lisa says too brightly, in the same voice she gets before showing off one of her avant garde pieces that has less to do with sexy fun and more to do with gore, one of her hands on his shoulder as he moves to bail. “That one has your face!”

And he does. And that is what gets his attention. Tommy rounds and looks to the magic user, dodging Silvie’s blast to stop the stupid fighting. And then he’s there, in front of him, concept of personal space lost as he examines his face. The stylish hulk is growling at him, the guy with the shield looks ready to bash his face in, but Tommy’s not in the mood.

“Okay, okay, okay. Woah! Time out!" He fires a glance back to his teammates, who don't relent but don't make any further moves to attack, then back to the Young Avengers. Shoving a finger into the magical boy's personal space. Lisa isn't wrong. It's like - looking into an mirror, except the colors are off. The expression is off - the boy's face is wondrous where it should be guarded, hostile. Too open and expressive. "Can we all agree to chill? Good. Good. Now that that's settled..."

They lock eyes.

"Who the hell are you?"


End file.
